Napalm and Cordite
by major-killjoy
Summary: I've given up too much of my humanity to ever be considered human." Two years prior to the events of Killzone 1 i.e. Second Intersolar War , a lowly corporal in the Helghan Army is being given his first major assignment.
1. Napalm and Cordite

Our train has stopped at Tharsis for refueling. Small goggles are pressed against our compartment window. Children of the town's petrusite miners are knocking on the glass with hands outstretched. Feeling sympathetic towards them, I lower the window sill to hand out left overs from my ration tin. Sitting across from me, my travel companion shakes her head disapprovingly. Her shoulder length brunette hair poking from the back of her respiratory aparatus.

"Don't encourage beggars, Leigh", Laika reprimands me through her visor. "They're parasites, just like their parents." I look back at the young ones, the smallest child of the pack breaks off from the group with the majority of the food in his arms. He makes a dash towards the shanties, the group of children give chase.

The scenery is beginning to move. They've probably finished refueling, by now. Outside, the ghibli winds are beginning to pick up, carrying chunks of red debris, thick with sulfur and carbon monoxide into the air. Watching the sandstorm, the train is silent. The sound of rotating gears lull me to sleep.

[Two days ago]

I've been summoned to Headmaster Radec's office. After 5 years of military service, defusing land mines on the outskirts of Pyrrhus City, this is the first time I'll be meeting the headmaster face to face. My dorm mates are giving me sympathetic glances, expecting the worse.

"What the hell did you do, Kiljoy?" one of them asks.

"Were you caught looking at Vektan porn mags or somethin'?"

One of them chimes in and assures me, "I heard the Sulljeva labor camps serve excellent fish chowder."

I ignore them and turn my attention to the mirror, checking the lapels and angle of the emblems on my uniform. After all, 'The dress code is the foundation of discipline', I repeat to myself. Shutting my locker, I exit the dorm and enter the courtyard.

It's 6 am in the morning. A squad of grunts are deeply engaged in PT exercises with the usual batch of calisthenics and full-gear jogs. One of them is vomiting over a trash receptacle. Must be new.

The rooms that fall prior to the headmaster's office are lined with books on various topics: military tactics, philosophy, biological sciences, historical texts that chronicle the Terran era and many others. There's a plaque on the wall reading 'Violence has its own economy, therefore be thoughtful and precise in your investment'.

I knock on the doors and announce myself, "Headmaster Radec, Corporal Kiljoy reporting."

"Enter", an austere responds. The morning sun is rising, giving the room a red orange glow. In the distance, the Salamun market is waking up: the farmers, fish mongers and tradesmen are setting up their stalls and arranging their wares. The man known as Headmaster Radec, Commander of the 9th division of the Helghan Army is standing, back towards me, facing the window, book in hand. Without looking up from his readings, he asks me, "Corporal Kiljoy, do you know the origin of our city's name?"

Searching my memory, I answer, "Sir, Pyrrhus City was named after the military term ''Pyrrhic Victory' which was used to refer to a victory with devastating cost to the victor."

"But, do you know the origins of that term, Corporal?"

"Sir, I do not." Underneath my helmet, I'm sweating bullets. My gaze consciously shifting towards the commander's holstered StA15 handgun and the exit behind me.

"During the Pyrrhic War, King Pyrrhus had won several battles against the Roman Republic by compromising a great deal of his resources and manpower. Albeit, the Romans suffered more casualties, their morale never diminished," he concludes. Setting the book down alongside the other papers on his desk, Radec turns to me. "What can you conclude from this?"

I recite my drill instructor's slanders, "Sir, I am but a expendable cog in this machine called war."

The headmaster chuckles, "A textbook answer for a soldier, however, for this mission, I need you to undo some of those habits and think decisively as an individual. Here," He hands me a thick, manila envelope. "The contents are highly classified, if word gets out, expect severe repercussions."

"Sir, if I may ask, what qualified me for this task?"

"You were a member of the Helghan Explosive Ordnance Disposal (HEOD) unit prior to your enlistment, in addition, we needed someone young yet capable. All the other details are expanded upon, in the envelope. You're dismissed." Turning back towards his personal library, he picks up a different book and returns to his readings - that's my cue to leave. Before the door shuts, I hear him mutter beneath his breath, "... an expendable cog in this machine called war..."

The dorm is vacant when I got back. Everyone should be out for either patrol or PT, at this time. They'll be surprised to find out that I've returned in one piece. I'm surprised, as well. Removing my sweat-soaked helmet and tactical vest, I prop myself on my bunk, envelope in hand. Inside there are several photographs: aerial maps, unfamiliar architecture surrounded by green vegetation (... is this?), various profile pictures of uniformed Vektans and one Helghast female. The cropped haired brunette had an intense look in her grey gaze, which off-setted her more pleasant features. Putting the photographs aside, I find a short handwritten letter addressed to me:

CPL Kiljoy:

Rendezvous with Sgt. Romelle (fig. #15) at Constantine City Station in civilian garb. Attached are several bills, 2 train tickets - the 1st departs 0900 hours of today. Bring, the contents of this envelope, but nothing else. Failure is unacceptable.

-R

That's it? I check the back of the letter... nothing. $800 Visari bills are taped to the inside of the folder, as well as the train ticket from Pyrrhus to Constantine and from Constantine to Suljeva.

I have an hour before the train leaves. Changing into dark slacks and a black peacoat, I briskly place the photographs and letter back into the envelope. Double checking my surroundings, I pocket the cash and ticket and dash out of the room. My dorm mates are walking down the hall ways as I'm sprinting. I'm running for my life, literally.

One of them calls out, "Its been nice knowing ya, Kiljoy."

The train from Constantine to Pyrrhus is anything but comfortable. I was lucky to find an empty compartment, but I had nary the time to enjoy it. The walls that separate the train cars are thin and in the neighboring room, I hear the audible voices of petrusite miners.

"Haha, I can't believe you actually spent most of your cheque on Vektan porn mags", the gruff voice laughs.

"Well worth it. But, how the hell am I suppose to smuggle them through customs?" asks the other voice. "The gov placed a Vektan media embargo a month ago."

"Aw, fuck, you're right. You probably should check into a restroom and enjoy them while you can..."

Slamming a fist on the wall of the opposing room, I shout, "SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP OR I'LL REPORT YOUR WORTHLESS ASSES!"

"Prick," the other miner spits. "Lets change rooms, before that killjoy does any more damage."

The room goes silent. Without reservation, I collapse into the seat, clutching the envelope in the folds of my jacket. As the train moves towards our destination, I can't help but be a little homesick.

Two or three hours must have passed. Cracking my eyes open, I watch as the city of Constantine grows larger. It's home to a multitude of political exiles and free thinkers, many of whom are living there incognito. The city is ripe with crime, the biggest being the black market chain. Reconnaissance teams are always on the look out for bootleg ships on the borders.

Stepping into the station, I wait patiently for my contact. The train to Suljeva leaves in 10 minutes. 5 minutes. 2 minutes. No one. Waves of commuters flow through the station, but I recognize no one as the uniformed female in the picture. Sweat is beading on my forehead, I can't abandon the mission, but I must go forward. Stepping into the train, I take one last look at the station... she's not here. Glancing once more at my ticket stub, I enter the respective train car.

"Cpl. Kiljoy?" a voice asks. The room is empty: two long plush seats and a window situated in the center. A hooded figure materializes, slouched in the seat across from mine. A Scout.

"Sgt. Romelle?" I ask. The scout removes the hood and the thermo-visor. Her hair had grown to shoulder-length, but she appeared every bit like her photograph, albeit, more intimidating, in person. "Ma'am, your hair," I focus my gaze elsewhere. Woman with grown out hair are a sign of prostitution on Helghan. To avoid gender bias, most keep their hair short or shaved.

"Stop it, I know what you're thinking, but I assure you that it's mission related." Had it not been for her respiratory-mask, I could have sworn she was beet red. "Do you have the papers?"

I reach into my coat and hand her the documents. After flipping through the stack, she pockets them. "Now that we have everything in order, let me explain the mission objectives, Kiljoy. We have an Agent situated in the top brass of the Vektan military. A General Adams, Supreme Commander of the Vekta SD Platform. However, a few officers have gotten a hold of some knowledge which could expose Adams. We need to eliminate them, during their annual summit meeting. The best way to do this without incriminating Adams, would be to use explosives on the summit building. I'll be on recon and stand-by just in case something goes wrong."

"When is the summit meeting?"

"Seven weeks from now. The trip will take 2 weeks, so technically, we have 5 weeks when we arrive on Vekta. Oh, this is for you," she hands me various pieces of identification with my photograph on it. "You're an engineer at Vekta Industries. You're happily married and you love your job."

"Who will you be?"

"I'm a homemaker, whatever the hell that is, and your wife. Those Vektan women grow their hair out like whores," she mutters. "It would have been more efficient if I was cloaked during the entire time. But, having a married couple in plain view would be less conspicuous. It'd be best if we started addressing each other by first name, Leigh."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Look, unless I can convince those Vektans that we're into S&M, you have to try harder," she remarks, thick with sarcasm.

"Sorry, but your first name wasn't mentioned in any of the papers."

"It's Laika."

"Laika," I repeat.

"Good," she nods. "Our meeting marks the beginning of Operation Napalm and Cordite."

Feeling a bit confident, I ask, "I'm Napalm, right?"

"No, you're Cordite."


	2. Blue Earth

Chp 2 Blue Earth

Right on schedule. A merchant dropship signals its lights in morse code. Laika translates for me, "R C, hurry for pick up." The gunmetal dropship lands, whipping red dust around us. As we near the ship, I notice the gunnery affixed to its sides. With a muffled thump, the hatch hits the sands.

Oxygen tanks and respiratory filters hang on the walls and crates filled with various fruits and succulent dried meats permeate the interior. "Hey, you two, hurry up to the control room and grab a seat!" a voice orders. A middle aged, fire-haired man is seated in the pilot's chair.

"Laika, he's a..."

"A Terran," he interrupts. "Don't mix me in with those Vektan bastards."

The Sgt. approaches him with a small duralumin case and hands it to him. Carrot-top pulls off the cover and eyes the blue glowing contents: Small capsules of Petrusite. Replacing the cover, he laughs, "With this, I'll take you to the edge of the universe and back!"

"Vekta will be fine," replied the Sergeant.

"Well, then, Vekta, it is, Ma'am," he smiles with a flourish. With the pressing of several buttons, the ship roars to life and the LED lights up the dashboard. Nervously, I tighten the buckle straps on my chair. Turning towards me, the pilot hands Laika and I several barf bags. "Just to be safe," he winks. "Once we break atmosphere, our company's flag ship will be picking us up", announced the pilot. "Try not to soil the seats, Higs." Flicking various switches on the dashboard, the thrusters ignite, pushing me back against the passenger's chair. For a handful of minutes it seemed as though the air was sucked out of my lungs.

We break for the sky. An electrical storm is roaring, thankfully, nowhere near us. As the clouds thin, we're welcomed by our sun, Alpha Centauri. Some of the produce begins to levitate in place and it dawns on me, we're in outer space.

The pilot points his thumb towards one of the observations sets. "Take one last look at your home, it may be your last." Our burnt red planet is in rotation. From here, you can see the electrical storms gathering on the surface, the clouds forming elliptical swirls. You can see Corrinth river run across the major continent, like veins on skin. I remove my seat belts to get a better look at the panel.

"Stay in your seat until till the gravity simulator kicks in!" he warns me.

Zero gravity: It's if I'm in water, sans the friction.

--

I wake up.

My mouth tastes like vomit, there's a hill-sized bump on the left side of my forehead and I'm stark naked. Usually, that'd mean I had a really good night, but not today. Summoning much effort, I push myself to an upright position. The room is dark, except for the lights of an alarm clock. I wait for my eyes to adjust. With minimal furnishings, the room appears more like a hospital ward, maybe even my old dorm room. Crap where the hell am I? I'm fumbling the walls for a switch, any switch. One of the walls is a window, revealing a bluish-purple swirling nebula.

On the other side of the room, I hear the familiar sound of an automated door opening. The fluorescent lights flicker on. Laika is standing in the door way, bloodshot eyed.

"Nice job, making a mess of yourself, asshole," she swears, tossing me a fresh set of clothing: a grey mechanic's suit and underthings.

"What happened to me?" I ask, oblivious of the previous hours or days or whatever amount of time had passed.

With no time for formalities, she continues to stare daggers at me, as I dress. Snarling, she answers, "You've vomited, all over the fucking place, right before the gravity simulator kicked in."

"But how did I end up here?"

"Like I said, the gravity sim kicked in," she continues, "and you cracked your f'in head on one of the panels when you fell." 'Cracking' would be an understatement. The reflection on the window shows a train-track of stitches running across the left side of my forehead to the side of my skull.

"Shit," I curse. Whatever pain medication was pumped in me, is now wearing off. Sitting myself back down on the bed, my brain seems to pulsate. I might as well be one of those boot camp sparring dummies. If you pummeled me in the stomach, I wouldn't be able to feel it.

The irritated Sgt. slaps my hand away from my forehead. "Don't touch it. Are you asking for an infection?" she warns me. I apologize sincerely, eyes downcast. Today has been a mix of equal parts of pain and humiliation. She sighs and hands me two asprin pills, "Look, after today, I can't give you anymore medication for the pain, we need you conscious and alert for the next two weeks."

Handing me a info drive, I inqure, "What's this for?"

"Homework," she responds. "We have 2 weeks before we land to get ourselves up to date on Vektan news, their cryptic alphabet, culture, history, important figureheads and other whatnot." She stands up to leave. "Starting tomorrow, I also suggest, that you progressively lower the amount of filters in your respirator. I'll see you tomorrow."

Eyeing the chip, I ask her, "Where will you be?"

"Cleaning up your vomit, in the dropship, dipshit." Before, I can thank and compliment her on word choice, the door slides shut. Pocketing the info drive, I lie down on the bed and stare at the unfamiliar ceiling. Three days ago, If you told me, that I'd be on a steel can, traveling thousands of kilometers per second, heading towards my future gravesite, I'd buy you a drink and another one, just to indulge you. Truth is, I'm on the top of the world. (if that's even possible, since I'm in space) In three days, I have experienced, more adventure, than in my entire 25 years of life. Nevertheless, my head still hurts and I'm too tired for further monologging.

The next few days were like clockwork: wake up, do some calisthenics, study for a handful of hours or two and go retire for the day. The room I'm staying in doubles as the ship's infirmary. Once or twice in a day, one of the crew members would pop in to treat a cut or a bruise. The more curious ones would ask me questions about me and my planet. I'd give the typical answer: It's cold, the food sucks and there are bugs everywhere. More often than not, they'd ask about my female companion.

"So, is she your lady friend?"

"Something like that," I smile underneath my breathing apparatus and I'd give them that look that other guys would give, to implicate something. On those days, Laika would visit me and after quizzing me on various trivia, she'd reprimand me on insinuating a relationship that never existed. (even though she did insist on pretending to be a couple)

A lot of information about Vekta I learned came from the conversations I had with the crew. I learned even more about Terra, which was previously called Earth before the mass exodus to space. Most of the crew carried pictures of Earth, before it became an irradiated rock, as if those pictures were their children's photographs.

I maintained good relations with the redhead pilot of the dropship I vomited on. His name is Hesse and like many of the people onboard, he's old enough to be my grandfather but looks barely a day over 30. During the trip from Terran's Solar System to Alpha Centauri the passengers are in a cryogenic comatose, an 'Ice Nod'. For them waking 25 or 30 years into the future is the closest thing to time travel.

I'd join them in their mess hall, much to Laika's chagrin. Albeit, most Helghast have nothing against Terrans, many question their decision to stay neutral in our skirmishes with the ISA.

Hesse explains to me, "We're nomads or, as the Vektans call us, space monkeys. But, we still remember our home and we'll never forget what caused all of it to go to shit. Technology streamlined everything towards a common global culture: consumerism. Problem is, we're never satisfied. When I see the scramble for resources between your planet and Vekta, I can't help but think, 'Oh shit, not again'."

I never know what to say, during those conversations with Hesse. I was never politically minded, to begin with.

When I was 22, after hearing one of Visari's speeches in Salamun Square, I joined the army. The promises of valor and prestige can easily tempt anyone who grew up in the crowded shanties. I wonder if my partner shares the same sentiments.

Laika and I are lunching together, going over the idiosyncrasies of the Vektan alphabet. "You never know when to pronounce certain letters," she says. "Like the 'g' in 'bought' or the 'w' in 'two.'"

Looking up from my notepad of grammar notes, I ask her, "Laika, why did you join the army?"

"I like structure and order," she replies, chewing on a piece of dehydrated fruit.

"You'd be a killer librarian," I joke. But, her expression tells me that she's not amused.

"I've watched you, Leigh. You've changed, in these past two weeks," she points out. "You've been making chums left and right, since we've arrived. Let me remind you, 'Corporal', this isn't a pleasure cruise. These people are not our friends. We paid them in petrusite, so that they can ship us like their damn cargo. If our nation is usurped by the ISA, they will not care. Unlike your comrades, they will not compromise their lives or safety for anything else but, money."

"You don't know that."

She gives a mirthful laugh, "And what do they know about you, Corporal? Did you tell them about our mission? That we're traveling half the Alpha Centauri system, to murder a handful of top brass and maybe, even more, if civies are involved. Or did you spoon feed them that lie, that we're just a madly-in-love couple defecting to Vekta?"

"..." In the short amount of time that I've been here, I considered Hesse one of the closest friends I've ever had. I felt more genuine camaraderie with the crew, than I ever felt with my peers at the Academy. But, Laika's words held a strong point. Reality has dealt a critical blow. I'm beginning to feel sick.

Shaking me by the shoulders, she curses, "Dammit, don't pussy-out on me, now of all times."

The intercom crackles to life, "You two, get your asses to the dropship, ASAP. We'll be entering Vekta in a few hours."

Laika grabs me by the sleeve, before I can leave the room. "Leigh, at the very least, lets just finish the mission and go home."

Before the dropship embarks, Hesse exchanges our Visari Bills for Vektan Dollars and hands Laika and I a change of clothes. Vektan garb is surprisingly thin. Because of their closer proximity to the Alpha Centauri Sun, they are privileged with warmer climates. While on Helghan, 2-3 layers minimum is recommended to survive the cold.

Undoing the straps of my respirator mask, I allow the air to fill my lungs, a priviledge unique to my generation. The air is slightly heavier than expected. It's different from the sterile stuff in the industrial grade O2 tanks.

Stowing away my unequiped gear in my duffel, our ship prepares to depart.

The hatch of the flagship, drops and we're greeted by Vekta itself. Its likeness to the photographs of Terra is uncanny. Its vast oceans, cover the planet in blue. As we draw closer, a SD Platform Official hails our ship. Judging from his cadence, he appears to know Hesse. "You know the drill. Merchant license #, Ship Class, Inventory listings."

Hesse responds, "License # 08031987, Ship Class: Theseus, and I've sent a copy of our cargo list over to you. Lets get this over with."

"List is confirmed, access to Platform 2 granted." In the side mirror, I see a handful of artillery boxes, aimed in our direction.

Hesse turns to us, "Before we can make it to port, we'll have to go through the customs platform. Don't panic, usually they just send out sentry bots to scan the ship for unlicensed arms, narcotics and the like."

Thankfully, everything went on as expected. When Hesse was asked about the extra two passengers, he sends over a digital copy of our forged documents: birth certificates, passports, etc.

After perusing the papers, the official asks me, "Welcome back home, Mr. Kiljoy. How was your vacation in the Nara and Menouthis colonies with the wife?"

Giving him a perturbed look, I reply, "It was crowded and the atmosphere filters were poor, I don't plan on going back."

"Haha, I know what you mean." the uniformed official smiles. In the background, I recognize General Adams speaking to one of his subordinates. Giving us a small nod, he gestures his hand to the official to let us through.

Its 11 pm, when we arrive at Vekta City Space Port. The rest of the city is illuminated by lights, you can barely see the stars. Civilian ships, similar to ours can be seen docking and leaving.

Hesse walks us to a black vehicle parked outside of the port station. "This guy'll take you to the housing complexes in the South District." Laika nods, pushing past the pilot and enters the car. Pulling me aside, Hesse hands me a photograph. Upon further inspection, it was the photo of Earth that was displayed on his ship's dashboard.

I hand it back to him, "Sorry, I can't take this."

He shakes his head, "No, take it. I'm a Terran, but Earth is no longer my home anymore. Hopefully, you'll feel the same way about Helghan, someday."

"Hopefully," I lie. Exchanging handshakes and farewells, I enter the car. Laika is silently sleeping, as we're driving. The driver's back is focused on the illuminated roads. Outside, I watch as the cityscapes zoom past us in a flurry of lights. An entourage of people are exiting their work stations, dark-bagged eyes ready to enjoy the nightlife. I open the window to feel the breeze against my fingertips. None of these senses are familiar to me, but I relish it.

Now would be an opportune chance to make a break for it. A break away from a life of orders and itineraries. Liberation is only a door latch away. My partner, stirs in her sleep, momentarily breaking my trail of thoughts.

What the hell am I doing? After years of military conditioning, I can't let a simple evening drive impede my judgement. Sitting silently, I allow the car to take me to our destination.


End file.
